Smoke curtain       (Peter Verhelst- excerpt from catalog 1/1, 2013)

 

 

One appears to exist of smoke, of the vague form of solvent

transfer prints. The body has no longer a clear-cut form, as

if the body has been poised against a curtain and left an

imprint there (Veronica’s veil). No, as if it has become a

part of the curtain itself (shroud).

Perhaps the body has been half wiped out (as if it were a

blotch). No, it is rather a stain that cannot be removed

completely.

 

The bodies seem to stand in fog. The fog forms veils hanging

in front of the face. Do those faces want to hide? Perhaps its

skin has become so thin, so fragile that veils are necessary

to protect those faces. Perhaps this “amorphousness” is a shy

invitation rather than a disguise. Where is there gaze? Why do

they not look at us? Perhaps they do not do this to turn away

from us, but rather that we would want to look again and again

until we see their eyes. Perhaps because they

know that they exist for longer, the longer we look (they exist only in

our gaze). Until we know: we are smoke ourselves, and exhale

ourselves, into each other’s mouth.